Three Heads of the Dragon Prequel: The Rise of Dragons
by Rougeification
Summary: SYOC. Four Years before the betrothal of Haylise Baratheon to Viserys Targaryen, Aeron Targaryen was still a Stone, Finn Snow was yet to be exiled and Westeros was yet to have broken into war. A Prequel to the Three Heads of the Dragon series, watch as the characters set out on the paths that will shape the future of the Seven Kingdoms.
1. Autumn

**Well, I'm back. After a while away, I've been looking over the storyline for the final instalment, and in that Tom Holland/David Tennant moment, I said 'I don't want to go.' So, I've decided to write the prequel!**

**Yes, this will be a pretty short instalment – used to mainly give the spotlight to some characters that didn't really get their moment in the sun…**

**I'll be updating fairly regularly (hopefully) since, well, I've only got a dissertation to do, and this is just so much more relaxing. So, here we go – Four Years before the betrothal of Haylise Baratheon and Viserys Targaryen…**

**Bennard Stark – Winterfell, The North**

Markas was never so well suited to the sword. He was relatively skilled for his age, though I supposed most of that was due to being trained by a Master-at-Arms. He still held that scar on his forehead from sparring with Finn… Gods, I wasn't sure who was more reckless there; Markas, Finn, or myself. Either way, Meg forbade them from sparring ever again.

I stood on the balcony overlooking the courtyard as Markas swung his sparring sword at the sack-covered stickman. My son and heir… he'd never fully recovered from when the Ironborn man had stolen him away. I gripped my hand tightly around the wooden railing. Ironborns… nearly everything I had lost was because of them. And then one almost took my son away from me…

"My Lord." I turned to see Meg approach me, her long dark hair worn simply and hanging to the small of her back. The Stone Wolf, she was called, but she was soft around me, and softer yet around our children.

"He's getting better with the sword," I said, nodding to Markas.

"Have you advised him?"

"I'm no great warrior," I replied, "he'll learn more from our Master-at-Arms."

"You repelled the ironborn forces at Dragonstone."

"Aye." I nodded, casting my mind back to that damned year. How many hundreds had I lost that year? How many thousands had I killed? King Rhaegon Targaryen claimed victory with his dragon – let him. There was no glory in warfare. Men died in horrible ways, screaming in pain, and those that survived still nursed their scars. No, war was not glorious at all – that made it harder for me. To know that my men went with me, knowing what awaited them.

"There's to be a feast tonight."

"A feast?" I furrowed my brow.

"To celebrate the nameday of Prince Draegor Targaryen- now, I know," Meg spoke as I rubbed my brow, "but the King has decreed it so. He's sent wagons up and down the Kingsroad to dispense gold as recompense. He wants no-one to go without for his heir's nameday."

"Winter is coming. Our stores are low, and he'd have us empty them for a Prince's nameday?"

"People do foolish things for namedays," Meg replied, her eyes heavy on me. I let out a sigh and straightened up.

"The boy's my son, Meg…"

"_Bastard_, Ben, let's call him what he is."

"Bastard or no, he's as much my son as Markas or Evie-"

"As much your son?" Meg growled, taking a step closer. "He's half-Bolton. His very birth provoked them into war, and you'd call him as much your son as your trueborn children? He, who goes whoring and drinking while Markas reads with Little Evie?"

"Well, what would you have me do, Meg?" I snapped. "Send the boy away? Have him take the black?"

"It would give him a chance to earn some honour." I looked out across the courtyard and saw Markas had stopped swinging his sword, and instead looked up at us. I let out a grunt and walked away, into my chambers. These arguments always happened around this time – Finn's nameday. Though she grew restless at seeing him receive gifts like Markas and little Evie, I was glad she argued with me – it meant she wasn't bothering the boy. "You know it hurts me so, Ben!"

"Aye, you remind me near every damn day."

"Then why not send him away? He's an awful, brash, selfish bastard that will only hurt others- look at Markas' face! That scar will never heal-"

"Boys spar. Accidents happen."

"Accidents…" Meg swept a hand across her brow, "He can do no wrong in your eyes, can he?" I remained quiet. True, Finn was rowdy and boisterous, hot-tempered and rarely thought deeply about anything, but when I looked at him, I saw her. Not in his dark hair or dark eyes or long face, but I saw her somewhere within him, struggling to break forth. Though he was born in the South, I had named him Snow, for his blood was of the North. "If I had died, would you loved Markas or little Evie or Tylan an ounce as much as that boy?"

"I love all of my children."

"Does your family not mean anything to you?"

"It means _everything_ to me…" I growled.

"Then why let that boy remain here? Send him to Bear Island or… or to Greywater or ask the Queen to have another Lord raise him-"

"I'll not talk of this anymore, Meg."

"Did you really love her that much?" Meg asked as she walked over to me, eyes exploring my face for some reaction. I steeled my face, pushed down the pain and met her gaze.

"I've not spoken to the boy about his mother. I'll surely not speak to anyone about her."

**Aeron Stone – The Red Keep, King's Landing, The Crownlands**

Viserys had never been well suited to the sword. A boy of thirteen, he had his mother's silver hair and violet eyes, but not his father's skill with a blade. No, that had gone to Draegor – a man of seventeen and already a fierce warrior, more muscular with his father's own white-gold hair, with a long black tabard draped of his red undershirt. He flourished his sparring blade and looked at his younger brother with a grin.

"Are you holding back just because it's my nameday?" Draegor smirked at his younger brother, pointing the blade at the thirteen-year-old boy. Viserys took a breath and rushed at his brother, swinging the sparring blade forwards. Draegor struck at the blade and knocked it to the ground, quickly pointing the dulled edge to Viserys' throat. "It's a sword, not a bird. Hold it tighter."

I watched from the balcony above, sipping from my cup of wine. It was so different to the Fingers here. I gripped the stone bannister and turned around as soon as I heard a voice.

"Have they killed each other yet?" Visenya said, walking towards me with swaying hips. She was only thirteen and looked to resemble Viserys with the same silver hair and violet eyes, but she was certainly the most beautiful out of all of us. Well… except maybe for myself.

"Give it time," I responded, picking up the silver jug from the table beside me and pouring a measure of Arbor gold into my cup. "Viserys is getting _very_ tired…" I grinned, looking down at my little brother, who huffed as he pushed himself off the cobbled courtyard.

"What are you presenting to Draegor this afternoon?"

"Why? Haven't you a present for his nameday?"

"Of course I have," Visenya insisted, eyes drifting down to her brother. "I've got him a…" she cleared her throat, "a nice sword."

"Father gave him Blackfyre," I scoffed, "he doesn't want _another_ sword."

"Well, I don't know, what am I meant to get him?" Visenya hissed. I grinned and crossed my arms, looking down at my little sister. Well… half-sister. "What does he need?"

"It's nothing to do with need," I informed her, "he's a dragon. He has everything he needs – you must give him something he doesn't even know he wants."

"Like what?"

"Well, I, myself, have arranged for a girl from each Kingdom to come to his chambers tonight…"

Visenya gasped. "Draegor's not going to like that!"

"He isn't?"

"He's a Prince!"

"Exactly. I've yet to meet a Lord truly satisfied by one woman, I doubt a Targaryen could be satisfied by any less than seven. You'll understand when you're older."

"I'm not sure I'd want to understand…" Visenya turned her nose up at me. I couldn't help but grin; out of all of my trueborn brothers and sisters, Visenya was the only one who made me laugh when she was scorning me.

Though, I often found Viserys to be amusing, also. In the way one finds any runt of the litter to be amusing… Then again, I suppose I was seen as the runt. Well, that would change once Draegor was King – I'd be his hand and receive the reputation I'd deserve.

**Ashriel Tyrell** **– Highgarden, the Reach**

I didn't regret it.

My entire life, I'd been raised to be a Tyrell. I wasn't a boy, so I couldn't carry on my father's name. So, instead, I knew I was going to be shipped off and married to some Lord to bear his children, but… I thought I had more time!

I was only twelve when I was betrothed to a man in his fourth decade, and looked to be twice his own age. Shaking hands, quivering blue lips, not a single strand of hair on his head. His dark little blue eyes roved over me, and I'd moved to my mother's side to escape his gaze.

How many times had I pleaded with mother and father? Five? Six? But they wouldn't hear anything of it. It was my 'duty to our House', they'd told me.

Well, we'd see whether the old Lord would want me now. With my ears adorned with numerous gold rings, blood dripping down to my shoulders and staining my green dress – we'd known soon enough whether I was a suitable wife. Surely, this would save me from my grim fate as his wife.

**So, that was the first chapter. I'll finish off the second and upload it in… let's say something like 20 hours (I'm feeling productive). So, hope you guys enjoyed this chapter and** **the next one will be set in Winterfell, King's Landing and Casterly Rock, and called '**_**The Prince's Feast**_**'.**


	2. The Prince's Feast

**So, this chapter is an hour or so late, but I figured I'd try and make the POVs not set in Winterfell a little more… well, longer than a paragraph.**

**So, this chapter is mainly a Stark one, because I originally wrote this first chapter which was solely set in Winterfell, but I felt like I needed to break it up… Anyhoo, thanks to those of you who have followed and favourited already – great to see you're still alive and kicking! Also, let me know what sort of SYOCs you'd like to see – not related to GoT.**

**Oh, and on that note, I might as well say what my next project will be after Three Heads of the Dragon – I plan on writing an SYOC set in a Pre-Targaryen era. I've done research and found a time period that's not really written about so it gives me a lot of freedom. But… yeah, that's what I'll be starting after this series.**

**Draegor Targaryen – The Red Keep, King's Landing, the Crownlands**

So many presents! Seven Hells, I'd lost count – most of them were damned awful, though. Just volumes of tomes and tapestries, though I did receive some fine daggers and a fine new horse. Fools – all of them. I didn't need a damn horse, for I was Prince Draegor, future King of the Seven Kingdoms. I was a Targaryen – I didn't ride a fucking horse.

I rode my father's dragon from when he was healthy. Broxagon red scales were like plates of armour, his golden eyes blazing like suns. What need did I have of a Dornish Stallion?

"When do you think father will marry us?" Laena asked from my side. She was fairl grotesque – her seared skin all twisted and disgusting, like a monster out of the stories Viserys read. I rolled my eyes.

"I don't care."

"Well, father's ill, so…"

"Gods, you're harsh on the eyes…" I muttered. Laena glanced down at her lap, where she picked at her fingernails. Next to father sat mother, her eyes heavy and set on me. I groaned and looked back to Laena. "Soon, I suppose," I said finally. "Father's a little… preoccupied at the moment."

On the other side of the table sat Viserys and Visenya whom I could only tell apart from Visenya's longer silver hair. Between her and our father sat Aeron Stone – father's bastard from the Vale.

He wasn't one of us. Not really. He was only half a Dragon, and had no martial skill. Aegon the Conqueror was a figure for us all to aspire to be. He took the Seven Kingdoms – him and him alone. Aeron? Well, the similarities ended with the name. He wasn't a Targaryen, he wasn't a ruler, and he didn't have the ruthlessness that Aeron did.

True, Viserys didn't have it either. But he was still a Dragon. Seven Hells, even if he became half as skilled as myself, he'd still be better than most of the dullards that call themselves Knights. No, I was certain that, in time, Viserys would prove himself as being worthy of the name 'Targaryen'.

**Markas Stark – Winterfell, The North**

Feasts were common in our home. We'd invite the stewards and Cerwyns, but this feast was unlike anything else. Fish and pork and venison. Fruit from the South – it was a luxury. We'd never had a feast like this for any of our namedays…

I sat at father's table, next to Tylan, who attempted to eat his pork without the assistance of a knife.

"Tylan," I groaned, "why aren't you using your knife? Or, at least, your hands?"

Tylan looked up to me and gave a playful growl. I rolled my eyes and leant back in my chair, sipping from my second cup of wine. People cheered and sang and dance, toasted Prince Draegor and were merry. Father wouldn't let me drink enough, however, to be like that. Wine still tasted… strange to me.

At the back of the Great Hall, where the castle guard sat, I heard a raucous laugh and cheering as I saw Finn stand up and tip out his horn, with only a splattering of ale falling to the table like raindrops. He sat down and was slapped on the shoulder by the older guards, who poured him another. He'd never have someone to tell him when to stop. I couldn't help but grin as I saw Finn raise a fist to his mouth and let out a deep breath as he eyed his next drink.

My smile faded, however, when I looked to my mother. She glared at Finn, green eyes narrowed as she turned to face Father before standing up and storming out of the Hall. Several Lords, including Lord Ichabod of House Cerwyn, rose and bowed their head.

Father sighed and licked his lips as his dark eyes looked over to me, "Watch over your siblings," He said before standing up and holding his chair out. I nodded and rose to my feet, moving over to take his place in the Lord's chair. It felt strange, sitting there. As if it was far too big for me.

I watched Father leave the Hall and thunder outside to follow Mother. This was why I never liked feasts. Mother would always leave early- once she'd even told me she was 'disgusted' by sharing the Hall with a bastard.

My eyes drifted over to the candle that burned beside me. I couldn't help but cast my mind back to the campfire I'd been tied and gagged beside as a child. As the strange man had eyed me and told me exactly what he planned to do. Everything around me seemed to fade away as I felt myself being pulled back all those years…

I didn't have long to linger on these thoughts as a hand clapped on my shoulder and I saw my brother, Finn, slip into my vacant chair. He was far bigger than I was, with broad shoulders and a tall build. His hair wasn't cropped as short as mine, and fell to the bottom of his neck in waves. His leather doublet was unfastened, revealing his undershirt, stained from the ale he'd gulped down moments ago.

On his belt was the present Father had given him on his nameday. A knife of castle-forged steel, with an ironwood hilt that shaped into a wolf's head for a pommel. Commissioned by father, and crafted by the Forresters.

"Look at you." Finn lounged back against the wooden back. "You're all furrowed brows – truly Lady Margareth's son." Finn raised a hand which clasped a flagon of ale, and he proceeded to fill my empty cup.

"Father said I could only have two cups…" I began.

"Ah, two cups of _wine_." Finn raised an eyebrow and then filled his horn.

"Finn, I shouldn't…"

"A toast to Prince Draegor's health. May he live long and be blessed by the Old Gods and the New." Finn raised the horn with a smirk. I dropped by head, shaking it finally as I raised my cup.

"Hear, hear."

Finn clinked his horn against my cup and began to gulp it down as though he'd die of thirst. I sipped the ale and placed it back on the table.

"Come, now." Finn moved my hand so the cup was back at my lips. "We shan't offend our Prince."

"Finn…"

"Oh, have a little fun, Markas," Finn said with a shrug, "what's the worst that can happen?" I took a breath, flickering my eyes back to him as I drank the cup's entirety. The ale was sweet like honey. I smacked my lips as I looked at the empty cup. "It's called mead." Finn moved to refill my cup. I let out a smirk and clinked my cup against his horn.

"Can I have some?" Tylan asked Finn. Finn turned back to me with a grin.

"No," I said to Finn, "He's six."

"A drop won't hurt him."

"It won't just be a drop, though…"

Finn sighed, and I turned to see Evie enter the Hall, walking between the tables with a book held close to her chest. Of course, little Evie would be late – always reading books. Though, I did long for her to join me – Finn and Tylan weren't much interested in books.

**Evie Stark – Winterfell, The North**

I reached my family's table and, much to my pleasant surprise, Finn was sitting there. Markas was in the Lord's chair and Finn was on his right. That's how it would be later in life, I supposed. Markas as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, and Finn by his side, serving in our army.

I placed my book on the table and sat down next to Markas, smiling at him. His dark hair was neatly sheared – mother's doing, no doubt. His grey eyes twinkled as he turned to face me – I hadn't seen him this happy in a while. Though Finn could be unkind to me and not let me play with him and Markas with their swords, he did make Markas smile. That, at least, I admired about him.

"Have you read this?" I handed the book to Markas, who narrowed his eyes at the title.

"The Doom of Old Val- Valyria…" Markas cleared his throat.

"Are you drinking more wine?" I asked, mouth agape. Father never let us have more than two cups!

"No," Markas said quickly.

"You are, aren't you?"

"No. Finn just filled the cup with something else. He toasted Prince Draegor, so I had to drink."

Finn turned to face Markas and raised an eyebrow, setting the horn of ale down on the table. "You're a piss-poor brother, you know that?"

"Mother said you're not our brother," Tylan said loudly, "Mother says you're our bastard brother, and we're not to call you anything else."

Poor Tylan. He probably didn't even understand what he was saying. I looked up to see Finn's smile falter as he brought the horn back to his lips and drank it in its entirety. I felt something move in my chest and quickly looked down to my book. "Finn, have you read this?" He shook his head. "You should. It's all about dragons and dragon riders and… and how the city fell in flames!"

"Fitting," Finn said, taking the book from me and leafing through the pages.

Something swelled inside me – if Finn was interested in this, maybe we could spend more time together, talking about the ancient histories. I had books on herbs and alchemy, not to mention the greatest warriors from the Age of Heroes…

I was interrupted by a scoff as Finn closed the book. "There's not a single thing in here I find remotely interesting." Finn closed the book and dropped it in Markas' lap. "Give me a good tourney any day."

I frowned and took the book back from Finn. Tylan drank from his cup and let out a small chirp and drank from his cup with both hands. Markas looked to Finn, who gave a guilty grin.

"You didn't?" Markas muttered.

"I didn't what?" Finn said innocently.

"Please tell me it was just a drop."

"Just a drop of what?"

Tylan tugged on Finn's sleeve. "More, more, more!"

Finn chuckled as he wrapped a hand around the back of Tylan's head. "We'll fill a flagon and drink it in a sitting when you're older."

"But I want it now! A wolf needs more!"

I couldn't help but smile as I saw Finn cackle at this. Even Markas chuckled. "A cub doesn't need as much as a wolf," Markas said.

"But Mother said that I should have more than a bas-"

"Less of what mother says," I interrupted Tylan quickly. Finn already rose to his feet. "Finn?"

"I'm fine just…" Finn cleared his throat, "shouldn't be up here with such lofty company." He gave Tylan a ruffle of the hair, who barked in response. Finn let out a playful growl in Tylan's ear, making him giggle with glee. And with that, Finn passed between the tables of the Hall and left.

"Should I-" I began, but Markas shook his head.

"Leave him be. He'll be back when he's ready." Markas turned to me and plastered a smile across his face. "This book, then, the Doom of Old Valyria?"

"It's amazing. To think, a city built entirely by dragons!"

"That sounds terrifying…" Markas bit his lip. "Dragons are…"

"I know, but how amazing would it be? To see a place like Dragonstone, but a whole city of those structures!"

"I'm more concerned about the dragons…" Markas stopped talking as he saw my eyes fall on Tylan. He had both hands around the large flagon and was pouring the amber mixture into his mouth. "Tylan!" Markas shouted, snatching the flagon away from him. Tylan let out a giggle and swayed slightly, grinning widely. I moved around to wipe his mouth and cheeks clean with the sleeve of my dress. Tylan groaned and leaned over the side of his chair, immediately belching out his dinner.

"I'm getting mother!" Markas said, jumping out of his chair and moving to leave the Hall.

"Markas- don't…." It was no good. Markas was already halfway to the door, and Tylan belched up again. I closed my eyes and took my kerchief from inside the sleeve on my wrist and began dabbing at his mouth.

**Lucian Lannister – Casterly Rock, the Westerlands**

In the long hall of my forefather's home, we sang songs of Lann the Clever. I was of House Lannister of Casterly Rock, and never would we sing to a House before our own in the seat of our Kingdom. High stone arches, wide and filled with dark mahogany tables that spanned the length of the hall.

My nephew, Addam, sat at the end of my table – Gods, what a boy. Had our golden hair, but looked as though he'd take after his brother, Dalton. Now there was a boy that was still yet to turn into a true man – always singing his damned songs. This bard who spent his time whoring and drinking, whose sword rusted in his scabbard, was meant to be heir to House Lannister after my death.

The Seven wept.

The doors creaked open at the end of the Hall, and I saw her enter. She was clad in spun woollen breeches and a linen shirt, the bodice loosely laced beneath a jerkin as she walked through the halls, her golden hair woven into a thick braid that fell between her shoulder blades as she walked through the halls.

"Dalton," I hissed to my nephew, "I thought I told you to make sure she'd be presentable."

Dalton was a handsome lad – he reminded me greatly of my late brother. He had the same green eyes and golden hair. Though he was my daughter's cousin, he could have been mistaken for her brother.

"That's not my fault," Dalton insisted.

"And why not?"

"I…" Dalton looked to the end of the table, where Addam flashed a lop-sided smile at the serving girl. "I told Addam to do it," Dalton lied quickly.

"Did you, now?"

"I did. See, he wanted to make sure the wine arrived, but… you know what he's like, so I decided to oversee that…" Dalton hiccupped.

I rubbed my brow and waved over Addam. "Take Lyra to her chambers with Ser Wylan, and tell her she shan't feast with us unless she's dressed like a proper Lady."

"But, Uncle, I'm…" Addam protested, glancing back to the serving girl before groaning. "Yes, Uncle."

"As for you Dalton," I turned back to the more incompetent nephew, "if you insist on drinking, you may do so elsewhere."

"Maybe I shall." Dalton rose to his feet, swaying slightly. "I think I may write a song of my own. A wandering lion…" Dalton smiled to himself at the thought.

"Thank the Seven your father is not here to see you stain our legacy…" I muttered as I watched Dalton walk away. The boy was a waste – if he was not my brother's son, I'd have cast him out long ago. Yet he was a Lannister of Casterly Rock – he couldn't remain a drunkard masquerading as a bard – he had to do something great with his life. He had to further our legacy.

**Margareth Stark – Winterfell, The North**

I stood beside Ben, looking at our children and his bastard. Tylan was in bed, sleeping soundly. The Maester had assured us he'd be fine, despite a throbbing pain in his head when he awoke. Thankfully the malicious bastard hadn't hurt my youngest, poor boy.

My precious Markas stood between my sweet little Evie and Finn Snow as Ben rubbed his jaw.

"You gave him mead?" Ben asked them all. "A boy of _six_?" He hissed the words. All the children looked down at their feet. "Markas, I told you to watch your siblings."

"Don't blame Markas, Ben," I said, my eyes on the bastard. "We all know who to blame here."

Finn Snow kept his tired, dark eyes on Tylan. His brow was stitched together as he rubbed his thumb against his fingers. He sickened me. Half-Bolton, full of sin and lust and ill intent.

"No," little Evie spoke, "no, it wasn't Finn, Tylan did it himself-"

"Evie," Finn Snow hissed.

"Is this true, Finn?" Ben asked. The bastard looked to Markas, whose grey eyes remained on the ground.

"Aye." Finn swallowed. "Aye, I thought a drop wouldn't hurt…"

"Do you still think that?" Ben snarled. "Do you?" He snapped.

"You see?" I clasped my forehead. "You see, I told you he would do this!"

"Mother-" little Evie began.

"Quiet, Evalyn!" I raised a finger at her. Little Evie's lip quivered and she looked back down at her feet. "Is this an accident too?" I asked Ben, who clenched his jaw.

"Do you have anything to say in your defence?" Ben asked his bastard. Finn Snow looked to Tylan, then to Ben and parted his mouth slowly.

"No, My Lord." Finn said. "All I can do is apologize." Finn Snow's eyes drifted back up to Tylan. He took a step forwards, reaching out a hand, but I quickly moved in front of him.

"Don't you _dare_ come near my child!" I snarled at him. "I'll not have your bastard hands on him again!"

Finn Snow slowly closed said bastard hand and retreated back to my other children.

"Get some sleep," Ben instructed them. "Finn, you and I will go out on a ride tomorrow."

"Yes, My Lord." Finn Snow bowed his dark head and, with a look back to my precious Tylan, whom I stroked the sweated forehead of, left. Little Evie immediately followed, pressing her wrists to the corners of her eyes.

"Father, it wasn't like that…" Markas began.

"Get some sleep." Ben repeated himself. Markas nodded, and walked over to the bed, leaning down to kiss Tylan on the forehead.

As soon as Markas left Ben paced around the room, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Tylan will be fine," He said. "Kenn always said he drank ale instead of his-"

"You still defend him?" I looked up at Ben. The gall he had, to continually turn a blind eye to his bastard Snow's actions. "He knocked half of Duncan Dustin's teeth out last year, the poor boy…"

"After he found out he was terrorizing Tylan…" Ben began to justify his bastard's actions once again.

"The boy was fourteen, Ben!"

"There's more at stake here, Meg…"

"Like what?"

Ben bowed his head and moved to sit down next to me on the bed, stroking his forehead. "The Umbers weren't at the feast." If the Umbers weren't in Winterfell, they must have surely been in the Dreadfort with Alvar Bolton. It seemed as though for years now, the Northern Houses had been splitting into two factions; Stark and Bolton. And with House Umber all but declaring for House Bolton, it meant that nearly the entire west of the North were against us. Ben took a deep breath. "What do I do, Meg?"

I reached across and gently clasped his hand. "House Stark have ruled the North for generations. We have fought against the Red Kings, the Barrow Kings, the Mountain Clans – House Stark will never falter." Ben remained forlorn and silent. "You helped Queen Vysella on Dragonstone during the Iron Raids-" Ben quickly scoffed and rose to his feet. "They must help us if we ask them…"

"This all started _because_ I answered the call and helped the Southnors. If I ask them for help now, the Northerners will never see us as rulers in our own right."

"We have to win the war, Ben."

"It may not come to a war."

"Do you believe that? Truly?" Ben remained quiet, looking at our little Tylan as he turned over into my lap in his sleep. He rubbed his tired red eyes. Those dark eyes I loved. Those dark eyes that I hated. "I'll stay with him." I said, stroking my Tylan's brown hair. "You must rest."

Ben nodded, leaning across to kiss me gently. He bowed his head to gently press his lips to Tylan's forehead and stroke his cheek before standing to leave me with our last son.

**Well, that was a fun chapter, wasn't it? All that familial drama… So, next chapter is set in the North, Storm's End and King's Landing. And let's call it 'Handmaidens and Whores'… because I'm **_**that**_** edgy.**

**I promise I won't make it as Stark-heavy. Let me know if you are enjoying this btw, or if you want me to just ditch this and make a start on the next book.**

**Anyhoo, 2 down and roughly 13 more to go… unless I decide to throw in some more plotlines. So, lemme know that as well – do you want me to write small little plotlines in this, or should they remain 'this is what life was like 4 years ago'?**

**R.**


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